The School of Prat and Sass
by Bree Z Claire
Summary: Albion university: school of the rich and prestige...and a very sassy Merlin. One-shot drabble.


_Hello lovelies!_

_A Merlin drabble featuring Sassy!Merlin. Enjoy!_

_Bree Z Claire_

* * *

The Golden Boy was grinning again, prancing about like no one's business in his high-class shoes and custom tailored suit. Honestly, if there was anyone who could take more pleasure in showing off his incredible self in the lobby of Kilgharrah Hall, it was 'king' Arthur Pendragon—unofficial title, of course, but don't say that to his face. Students were lined up along the overhanging balcony, staring down in awe as they leaned over the white and gold banisters. If he didn't know better, Merlin would've been fooled into thinking that the railings were sparkling from reflections off the monumental chandelier and not from the drool raining down from the guppy-faced students of Albion University as they stared down at the blond.

It was disgusting.

"So? What do you think?" The senior looked up at Merlin in askance and Merlin stared down from his perch, one leg dangling off the ledge, the other bent so his head could have a place to rest. Merlin snorted and looked away, bored with the spectacle Arthur was making of himself and, by extension, Merlin. More than a few students gasped at the blatant show of disrespect, but he didn't care. So what if Arthur valued his opinion above all others? That didn't automatically mean Merlin was obligated to shower the man with confessions of love and adoration like the rest of these idiots.

"I think you look like a preppy, spoiled school boy." The king's roommate replied with rolling eyes. "Pretentious prat," he muttered.

The female population of their residence threw themselves into a tornado of cooing compliments, trying with no avail to grasp the Golden Boy's attention and sooth his tender ego. Merlin rolled his eyes again, embarrassed on their behalves. Four years in this over-priced, hyped-up, filled-to-the-brim-with-rich-prats school and he was still no closer to understanding the strange breed of human that made up the upper class society.

"Merlin," Arthur said with a pout—_cue the mass sighing from all the girls_. "Tonight is Albion's 50th annual charity ball. Two students from each residence is chosen to attend as school ambassadors to welcome our honored guests who come from far and wide. The welcoming of such royalties requires grace, poise, and confidence—"

"So you're able to get by on two of the three, then."

The Golden Boy stuttered to a halt before, red-faced, lashing out, "So why the hell _you_ were elected as my second, I'll never know!"

Merlin perked up from his perch, staring down, and growled, "Well I'm sorry that you're so jealous of me, but I can't help it that I'm popular!"

The look on Arthur's face was priceless when the votes came in, and though the two were best friends and close roommates, they could also fight like the very worse of archenemies. Now, whether or not that was a good thing was debatable, but the antics between the two boys were well known even outside their residence, Kilgharrah Hall, and were apparently subject to many of the girls' squeals and fantasies—that's what Merlin had heard anyways. Who knew what went on under all that make-up and styled hair? It was a scary place.

Down below, Arthur was smoothing down his waistcoat lapels and straightening his tie. "Come, Merlin, one does not make royalty wait."

"Who are you calling royalty?" Merlin muttered, but stood up nonetheless, buttoning up his suit jacket as he made his decent down the stairs.

Despite detesting the prestigious school, it did come with some perks. Albion was one of the world's highest-ranked universities in terms of student-friendly atmosphere, education, and graduate student success. Being the A-student that he was, Merlin had been granted multiple scholarships to attend and has never looked back since. The only downside was leaving his mother in Ealdor while on his pursuit of higher education, but mother and son both knew it was for the best.

He paused halfway down the marble steps when a wave of brown hair caught his eye. "Freya, your hair!"

The girl gasped, eyes growing wide in fear under the resident fashionista's glare. "I-I-"

"Whatever you're doing, don't stop, because you look absolutely fantastic."

"Oh," the girl hiccupped and blushed, nodding her head in a fervent promise. Merlin smiled, knowing that his suggestion of volumizing shampoo and conditioner did just the trick for their girl's previously thin, limp hair. He continued trotting down the stairs, his designer shoes slippery on the red carpet that ran down all the main halls and out the entrance.

He passed the Golden Boy, walking a few steps before making a swift one-eighty to survey the man before him.

"Let me guess," Arthur's voice was dripping with sarcasm as Merlin looked him up and down, hand on his hips. "You're going to say something like 'waistcoats are so 18th century' or 'that tie is so not your colour' am I right?"

Merlin couldn't help but smirk. He stepped in close, and just as they stood toe to toe, he looked up with heavy eyes and fluttered his lashes the way he knew Arthur hated. "Actually, I was going to say you look damn fine. Right fuckable, even." He ran a hand down Arthur's chest, stopping just shy of the man's stomach. As he did so he could feel the slight quickening of Arthur's heart and breath. All around them, dozens of squeals and swoons could be heard.

Merlin smirked and backed off. "But if you want to go with the 18th century thing that works too." He spun around, strutting down the red-carpet and under the large arched doorway towards Monmouth Hall, his king following close on his heels.


End file.
